


Paint

by wouldyouliketoseemymask



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M, mad love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldyouliketoseemymask/pseuds/wouldyouliketoseemymask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley Quinn comes to life beneath his fingertips. Nolanverse Joker/Harley, Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint

He brushes strands of blonde hair away from her forehead with grime-caked fingers, his tongue jutting out in concentration between lips slick with the grease of red lipstick. With a damp rag he sets about wiping her face and removing the layers of cosmetics she had so carefully applied that very morning—black streaks of mascara, the pale-pink sparkle of her lip gloss. He does not attempt to be gentle, nor does he set out to deliberately hurt; his sole intention is to accomplish the task at hand by whatever means necessary. He continues his work even as her skin reddens with irritation, not stopping until he is satisfied that he has wiped away every drop of Dr. Harleen Quinzel and created a blank canvas for his own masterpiece.

He dips a brush into a small pot of face paint and cups a hand beneath her chin, lifting her head until her blue eyes meet his own. He runs the brush across her face in swift yet methodical strokes, its bristles thick with clumps of white oil; throughout the process she remains still, even as jolts of dizzying excitement wrack through her body each moment his skin touches hers.

He remembers the first time he saw her walk through the interview room door at Arkham Asylum, and the way she had greeted him as “ _ Mr. _ Joker” and a smile that was entirely too bright to be professional. He remembers her eyes brimming with tears as he spun artificial tales of tragedy and loss, how she had broken the asylum rules and placed her soft hand in his to soothe him, and he remembers how she  _ really _ broke the rules on the day he'd leaned forward to kiss her and she had kissed him back with the delicious combination of guilt and unbridled yearning.

And now she sat before him with an expression of child-like delight and awe, as if she can hardly believe what is happening—as if the breakout that had happened only hours ago was merely a wondrous dream of explosions and blood and flame.

He begins to apply the kohl around her eyes before smudging it with his thumb to create harsh smears of black. Her eyes shine brightly inside their new frames, sparkling with mirth and anticipation—this is something new, something  _ dangerous _ , something that she has wanted for her entire life without ever knowing it existed. Harleen Quinzel might be dying, but  _ she _ was coming to life.

When he purses his lips together and makes an exaggerated kissing face— _mwuah_ \--she giggles and repeats the gesture. The lipstick glides across her lips with a newfound precision until her red grin is completed, his previously-chaotic gestures now replaced with painstaking effort and grace. He smiles, his grin wide and yellow with decay, and leans forward to press his lips to hers; he kisses her roughly, purposefully ruining her meticulously-formed smile with his own mouth before breaking away to burst into laughter.

In a lifetime full of destruction, this moment is among his proudest.

“Thanks, puddin',” she says quietly, and the thought of the ambitious blonde in his interview room sends him into fresh gales of laughter . A small giggle of her own bubbles on her lips and soon she is laughing as well, tears of mirth streaming down her face as their laughter mingles into a great murmuring roar.

She is his, now and until the end of her life—his triumph, his prize, his victory.

His Harley Quinn.

 


End file.
